The Fine Line
by evizyt
Summary: There's a fine line between love and hate, and the dividing factor is passion. Whether anger or love, Lily Evans and James Potter are both extremely vulnerable to passion one day. Oneshot in pluperfect.


**The Fine Line**

She had been sitting, her arms folded, red hair tucked behind her ears. Her face had been wearing that curious expression that some people have worn when they are absolutely furious—but indeed perhaps not furious, at all. 

It might have been her anger that made her so vulnerable to passion on that day. 

She had been reliving a particularly nasty fight she had just finished. She had a quick temper, and this serene spot by the lake had always been her refuge after fighting with him. Huffing angrily at the thought of him, she had re-tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Mentally she had been going over all the reasons she hated him. 

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This is how she had been when he came, this moment has been fresh in his mind forever, burned into his retina when he had thought of her. This one, short moment, had described her. 

She had been a passionate girl, and had been just as passionate as an awkward teenager on the brink of womanhood. Her eyes had sparkled with anger, and hate, and something more, something that was entirely her own, and unique to her. She had been very clever, but somehow never considered a nerd, know-it-all, or any of the other cruel names jealous people sometimes gave them. No, just clever, like many other clever people. Perhaps her beauty, the long auburn hair and fiercely sparkling eyes, was a warning. Those shocking green eyes, that had sometimes seemed the very center of it all. 

He had loved her, very much. Perhaps too much. It might have been his love that had made him so vulnerable on that day, now so long ago.

He had stopped when he saw her, so vulnerable and alone, determinedly looking away. Heavily, he had hunkered down next to her, pretending not to notice how she had edged away from him. 

"Hi," he had said quietly, his very tone had begged forgiveness before he even started the apology. He had opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for the right words, his prepared speech forgotten. "I'm sorry." She had glared at him. He had obviously chosen wrong, although if there was a right choice in the situation remains a question. 

"I'm sorry?" She had repeated, quietly, morbidly. "I'm sorry? You think you can just waltz in, provoke me while I'm studying just so you can try to flirt with me, waltz out when I get angry, and then just waltz back in and apologize and then everything will be ok?" She had gotten up now. All the stress and frustration she had felt over the last few months, all of it had been pouring onto him. 

"Look," he had said, also getting up, hints of anger beginning to show in his voice and posture. "I was trying to apologize. You don't have to act like it's some unreasonable demand!"

"AND NOW!" She had yelled over his voice, really shouting now. "YOU COME AND DISTURB ME WHEN I'M TRYING TO HAVE A FEW MINUTES OF PEACE!"

"Disturbing your 'me-free' time, am I?" He had said dangerously, taking a step closer. She had shivered as his warm breath tickled her ear. "I'll just go then," he had whispered. She had closed her eyes, breathing deeply, mastering her unruly emotions. Her anger had been wild and untamed, had unlocked the secret chambers of her heart that had a reason for being kept locked. 

"Fine!" She had shouted at his retreating back, unwilling to let him leave without a good fight first. "ANNOYING PRICK!"

"FOR GODSAKE!" He had roared, stopping in his tracks. She had seen his muscular shoulders tense as he had attempted to control the rush of impetuous rage. He had obviously failed. "GET OVER YOURSELF!"

"ARROGANT PRAT!"

"MATERIALISTIC TWIT!"

"SEXIST!"

"ALOOF!" With each insult he had taken a step towards her. They had stood, glaring at each other, barely an inch apart now, chests heaving and eyes sparkling with rage. It was a war, and it was to be treated as such. She had given up with the intelligent insults and mind games. 

"TWAT!" She had shrieked at him furiously, her voice rising up a couple octaves. "I HATE YOU! FU—"

"Do you really?" He had asked conversationally, voice abruptly dropping. The tension, however, had not left his body, he had remained rigid, breathing tersely. She had suddenly felt him, pressing up against her. 

"Yes," she had said breathlessly, trying to muster some defiance in her voice. She had been trembling, though it was no longer clear whether from passionate rage, or passionate….something else. 

"Really…" He had replied incuriously, and cool fingers had met her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. His eyes had been sparkling, and she had seen herself mirrored in their hazel depths. 

And then they had been kissing, so deeply and fiercely and passionately that it was unclear if they had still been attempting to hurt the other. She had tasted the metallic, rust tinged tang of blood and known it was from his tongue, where she had bit him. He had smelled the musk of her hair and she had felt the rough bark of the tree as he backed her against it. 

She had felt his hands slip up the back of her shirt, had felt his hands roam all over her body, had not known whether they were fire or ice, and whether these feelings he had evoked were due to hate or lust or pure, animalistic passion. 

They had stayed out there for a long time, uncaring of what anyone thought. She had felt the build in tension, and he had watched until it came over him too, they had felt the other tense until they shook, every muscle screaming, and had witnessed the arch that comes with the sparkling, tingling, blackness of ecstasy. And when it all became too much, the pressure, the tension, the pleasure, and pain merged in to pleasure in a wave that had her screaming, they had listened to their names on the other's lips. 

&&&&

It might have been her anger that had made her so vulnerable on that day. It might have been his great love for her that had made him so vulnerable on that day. There is a fine line between love and hate, and vulnerability gives way to passion, which leads too easily to love. They had found themselves swept in a downwards spiral, a girl who had no desire to love had fallen, deeply and completely. A boy who had loved too hard, judged too harshly, expected too much, had fallen, unexpectedly and unwontedly. 

They had been so happy together. They had been so perfect for each other. They had been the epitome of the perfect relationship. They had fought, and fought, and hated, and then they had loved. They had given themselves to the other, wholly and completely, and had never regretted that passion-filled day beneath their tree. 

He had teased her about it, once. She had frowned. It had never been a laughing matter for her. But as it had always been, everything became a laughing matter with him. Because part of their love had been their laughter. Two people, who had at first glance seemed so dissimilar, had almost everything in common. It had just taken a momentous event, a catatonic amount of anger, and a catalystic amount of passion to aid this realization. 

&&&&

She had fallen backwards, hair ballooning out behind her in a heat wave of fire that meshed with the green to create a falling martyr. She had been a sight to behold, her back arched, face angry, eyes blending with the halo that surrounded her.

She had stood for a moment amidst this glory of color and light and sound, slowly feeling herself fall. 

And as she had felt the first touches of the enveloping black velvet, she had blinked shut those vivid green eyes, so that no one would ever see them filmed over with death. She had known he would have wanted that for her. And as she crashed to the floor in a tangle of hair and limbs, with her last breath expelled forcefully from her chest, she had spoken his name. It had been a word associated with life, happiness, joy, youth, everything that she had ever wanted for herself and her son. With its release she felt her chest expand, a light smile touch her lips, and a sense of peace enveloped her. It was safe. 

"James…" she whispered. And far away, but getting closer, she heard his answering reply. 

"…Lily…" came that soft voice, carrying overtones of sadness and echoes of the life they had once shared.

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**A/N: so... like, hate, love, rotten tomatoes? I think this is a oneshot unless anyone can think of another chapter... which I can't... I would LOVE it if you wanted to REVIEW-the most reviews I have ever gotten on a story is 6. Yes, isn't that sad. Poor me, I am very sad, and not very rich in reviews. It breaks my heart... just think of me, poor little author who no one loves, watched the 'hits' on her story break 200 and I have 1 review. It's disheartening. So, a review would be nice. If you liked the story a little, lemme know. If you hated it...well, I have dealt with harsher. Like my teachers who all hate me. Like my mother when I got bangs. It won't be the end of my world if you make a suggestion. **

**But... if ya don't wanna... whatever. I promise I'll reply to everything though. **


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